Encounter
by Twyla Mercedes
Summary: Belle French is a brilliant cybrarian, a librarian specializing in managing info found on web, who also teaches a couple of esoteric lit classes at Cal Tech. Nicholas Rush is a genius, albeit also caustic & self-absorbed,a scientist specializing in Ancient Technology working at Cal Tech & with the 9th Chevron. Their paths cross, sparks fly, an erotic interlude ensues. Nonsense AU


**Encounter**

Belle was beyond furious.

How dare he commandeer the main lecture hall, booting her out from her pre-scheduled session – for which she had signed up well before the beginning of the term?! She had lined up several well-known speakers for her one-day seminar. It had been extra special for her this term – Alfred Jarry's works were to be the topic.

She had gone over to the physics department to speak with the man, thinking that surely it had been an oversight. Perhaps he had not been aware of her prior reservation, how this was a long-standing tradition for her classes – something her students looked forward to. Something she looked forward to.

She had found him, ensconced in his office.

Her first thought was that the man was a pig. His office was filled with unruly stacks of papers, mishandled books and several well-used white boards filled with exotic symbols. He was there, unshaven, unkempt, his feet up on the desk while he sat wearing little wire frame glasses reading from three different books, taking notes on all of them, at the same time.

He didn't even notice her, despite her clearing her throat several times.

She sighed, totally exasperated.

"I know you're there," he muttered without looking up.

"Oh good Dr. Rush. I'm Dr. French. I teach over in the Humanities Department, in Library Science. . . " she began _ever hopefully_.

He interrupted. "I know who you are." He seemed supremely disinterested.

She took a deep breath. She'd heard of his reputation – sarcastic, arrogant, completely brilliant, self-absorbed asshole. He tortured his graduate students, abused his assistants and ran roughshod over anyone who got in his way.

"I think there's been a mistake," she began.

He flicked his eyes over to her, then returned to his books. "I doubt that," he dismissed her.

"I'm sure there's been a mistake," she tried to make her voice sound serious and determined _her best librarian voice_. "The Harris-Steele Hall – I had the large conference room, the one with the raised dais, on reserve."

He sat up and turned away from his books, piercing her with his intense gaze. "No mistake. I went to the chancellor and he agreed that my lecture on interplanetary navigation - complete with my special panel of three Nobel prize winners, two Simpson award winners, a NASA engineer and a couple of other select scientists outweighed your little . . . poetry gathering." He gave her a tight smile and turned back to his books.

She blinked. "But . . . but I planned ahead and waited my turn, being respectful of other people's schedules whereas you just bullied your way in. Maybe, and this is quite debatable, maybe your lecture is more important than my . . . little poetry gathering, but in terms of playing fairly and waiting your turn, you, sir, are a prize prick!" she snapped back at him, losing her temper. She didn't wait for him to reply, turning and stomping out.

She stood outside the Cahill Center, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself. _What was wrong with her? She never lost her temper. And in two minutes, that man . . . that man had made her spit nails._

Although he really did have some pretty brown eyes, soft, like aged whiskey with glints of gold.

She reminded herself that he was hardly worth this amount of energy. She would _she hoped_ be able to find another venue for her Jarry seminar. She would rise above this rude irritating episode. She would rise against his high-handed tactics. She braced herself and went off to see the chancellor.

Rush had pulled his glasses down and watched the little humanities professor stalk off. _Damn, she had nice legs._ She'd had on a tight, short skirt and a form-fitting little top and shiny black patent pointy-toed shoes with spike heels. It didn't take any imagination at all to imagine her stripped out of them, except the shoes. She could keep those on. She'd pulled her hair up into a tight little bun – that might be nice to take down. He thought it would likely fall into shiny little corkscrew curls.

 _What the hell was wrong with him?_ Fantasizing over the tight-ass, prissy little librarian.

He put his glasses back on. The vision of her bright blue eyes, sparkling with her anger, passed in front of his face. _What would those eyes look like with their pupils expanded in passion?_

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. _Back to work Rush._

He had followed up behind the scenes. _He'd spent a little time looking up her bio. She was brilliant, graduating high school at fourteen and college at seventeen. She'd been recruited and worked at Google for the next five years while she picked up her first Ph.D. in Library Science. She had been interested in using computers to make information accessible to everyone with an internet connection. Properly, she should be called a 'cybrarian.' Cal Tech had gotten her on staff to help upgrade their computer cataloging and along the way she'd picked up a second Ph.D. in Ancient Studies – no particular reason, just an interest in the topic._

She had found another place for her little poetry gathering _he'd had no doubt that someone as resourceful as Dr. Belle French would do just that_. In an uncharacteristic moment of - something – surely not guilt – he had sent her a bouquet of white tulips and violet hyacinths, the woman at the flower shop telling him this was an apology bouquet. He'd signed the card, "From a prize prick."

The flowers were returned to his office, well, it wasn't exactly the flowers that were returned. She had clipped off the blossoms and sent him the stems. She'd signed it, "You know who I am."

He had to laugh.

So then he sent her a box of excellent chocolates. He knew they were the best after browbeating his female graduate assistants for their recommendations.

Belle was in her office with her best friend, Ruby Lucas, when the chocolates arrived. Ruby had an office in her building, although her expertise was in neuroscience. That department had spilled over and Ruby had been assigned an empty office in a nearby building, Belle's building.

"Good lord, Belle," she said. She was sitting on the corner of Belle's desk and picked up the box to look the chocolates over. "This is like an eighty dollar box of chocolates!"

"Noooo!" Belle shouted, trying unsuccessfully to stop Ruby from eating any of the little nuggets.

Too late.

"Whaaa?" Ruby asked with her mouthful of raspberry crème and dark chocolate.

"These are from that asshole, Rush! I despise that man! He's an arrogant, self-important scientist, some type of physics professor. He's trying to assuage his conscience for being a prick and booting my Jarry seminar out of the hall," Belle told her sourly. "I can't accept any of his little gifts or it will imply that I'm all right with him being a . . . a . . ." she'd run out of expletives she was comfortable using.

"Butthead? Blowhole? Jerkweed?" Ruby suggested a few terms. "I'll write him a note explaining that I had scorfed down several before you could stop me. You can continue to be righteously indignant" she assured Belle as she selected two more chocolates and stuffed one into her mouth. "Mmmm, salted caramel crème. Ah, drool." She closed her eyes as she allowed the heat in her mouth to dissolve the chocolate.

Belle grabbed the box and jammed the lid back on. "Now he's corrupted you!" she said. "I'm taking this back over to him right now!" She sprinted out of her office carrying the box, leaving Ruby orgasming with the last piece of dark chocolate with a soft milk chocolate center melting in her mouth.

As Ruby watched her friend frantically stomp out of the room she speculated. "Seems to be a lot of emotion to expend on somebody you despise."

Belle burst into his office. She had nearly run across campus to his office and was flushed with the exertion, her hair wisping out of her tight bun, her eyes bright and her mouth opened as she panted to get enough oxygen. She stood over him, removed the box lid and dropped all the chocolates over his head. She then dropped the box, top and bottom in his office. She didn't say a word, turning on her heel and leaving. He watched her walk away _always a treat._ He picked up one of the chocolates that had stayed in the folds of his t-shirt. He sampled it. _These were pretty good._

"Damn, who is that?" Jefferson Madison, an experimental physicist whose office was in the same suite, had noted the episode _._

"Dr. Belle French, Librarian," Rush had told him.

"What?! Were you late returning a book?" Jefferson asked him.

"Nope. Took away a conference hall she'd reserved earlier."

Jefferson mulled it over. "You hitting that?" he asked Rush.

"Not yet," Rush had answered. "She's still in that hates-my-guts-hopes-I'll-die phase of the relationship."

"Yeah, I always hate that phase. I usually just skip it by being nice to the woman," Jefferson counseled.

The third gift nearly stopped her heart. It was a small gilt covered box. It contained a ticket to an exclusive event.

"Where did this come from?" she demanded holding up the box for everyone to see. Several of her grad students were sitting outside her office. They looked at each other.

"This hot older guy came by," one of them said.

Her heart sank. "What did he look like?"

"Dishy in a scruffy kind of way," another one spoke up. "Brown hair - touch of grey."

"Looked like he'd slept in his clothes," said another one.

"Dr. Lucas let him into your office," another one added.

 _Ruby, I'm going to kill you._

She knew what it was for - an invitation to a one-time, hyper-exclusive, small group reading by Santana Creole, the Poet Laureate of the United States. Impossible to get tickets for. She had tried getting on the computer and clicking, clicking, clicking to get in for one of the only thirty available tickets available to The General Public, but was (of course) unsuccessful. She hadn't expected it to work out so she wasn't too disappointed. Now the damn golden ticket was lying on her desk.

She knew she should tear it up into little pieces but _this was a ticket to hear Santana Creole._

She went down the hall to Ruby's office.

"You let him in my office," she accused her.

Ruby grinned. "He was so nice and charming. I don't understand why you've been telling me he's an ass. He showed me his package . . . and said he really, really wanted to give it to you."

 _Why did Ruby have to sound like she was talking about something else besides the ticket?_ "So you let him into my office."

Ruby looked at her with large puppy eyes. "I figured better me letting him in your office than him blowing the door off its hinges with some sciencey stuff. So you going?"

"I want to, but . . ."

"You won't refuse to go just because the ticket came from him? Cheese and crackers, Belle, take it and go. Maybe, at this point, it is time to forgive the man. This took some effort to get."

Belle shook her head, "He probably had all his grad students working on it with the promise of an A in his class."

"So what? He still went to the effort."

"What if he's there?!" Belle suddenly asked.

"What? You think he managed two tickets? You think he's the type of guy who'd go to a poetry reading? I think, in the unlikely event that he should show up, it will let you know that he's more interested in getting in your pants than getting into the poetry," Ruby told her.

Now it was Belle's turn to be surprised, "What? You think he's interested in me?"

"He's going to a lot of effort to get back in your good graces," speculated Ruby. "If he wasn't interested in humping you, I doubt he would have made any apology."

'Euuw," Belle responded. "Have you seen this guy?"

"Yes I have. He's lean and wiry, high energy. I'm betting he could go three . . . four times a night."

"Ruby!" Belle was sometimes scandalized by her plain spoken friend.

Belle ended up holding onto the ticket. She intended to cut it up and send it back but just couldn't make herself do it. She'd get the scissors out but never went any further. Soon enough, she found herself out shopping for a formal dress to wear to The Event. She went with something simple and slinky and blue to match her eyes. And new shoes, once she got the dress with a long slit up the side, she had to get some new shoes that finished off the outfit. She found some - high heels, open-toed, ankle straps. She'd be carrying lunches she made at home for three months, but _damn_ they were worth it.

It was a great seat in a very small theater originally designed for theater classes to put on one-act plays. She was in the second row, center. Belle had taken great pains with her appearance, the new dress, dramatic eye makeup, her hair curled and left hanging in long burnished ringlets, a silk shawl with long fringe that she'd picked up years ago in a vintage clothing boutique. She slid into her seat filled with anticipation. People began to come in. Soon enough there were people in front of her, people behind her, people on the right sitting right up next to her, but the seat immediately next to her on the left remained empty. The theater lights dimmed once. She was still sitting next to an empty seat.

The lights dimmed once more and the theater chatter toned down. The Event was to start soon. The third time the lights dimmed and he hadn't shown up, she breathed a sigh of relief. She realized she'd been afraid that Rush would show up and she'd be forced to leave or put up with him for the night. As the lights dimmed for the final time she felt a dark, looming presence next to her.

 _Damn._ She knew he had sat down next to her. She managed a quick glance over. She half expected to see him in his usual worn jeans and a shabby pullover top but the man had apparently scrounged up a tuxedo. And he appeared to have shaved. Maybe even combed his hair.

 _Who knew he'd clean up so nice._

"Hello, princess," he whispered as an announcer came onto the stage. His eyes skimmed over her. "Like your dress."

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, her voice hissing _now regretting the purchase of the sexy dress and slutty shoes_.

"Watching the show. Now hush so we can all enjoy it," he told her as he sprawled back in his seat.

Belle barely heard a word. She was intensely aware that his arm is resting up against hers. She could feel the heat coming off his body. She could hear his breathing. She could swear that she could even smell him, a sultry masculine scent, something vaguely spicy and smoky. She was aware of every tiny movement. She kept trying to re-focus on the stage, kept trying to hear the words of the poet but just knowing the man was next to her was a distraction of epic proportions.

 _What was wrong with her? If only Ruby hadn't gone on about him wanting to get into her pants . . . . It had put ideas into her head. Now. . . now she was aware of him as a sexual being. And he oozed with sexuality. Probably was sleeping with all his female grad students . . . two at a time . . . in shifts._

She glanced down and in the quarter-light of the theater, she could see his hand resting on the armrest, his long fingers curled around the armrest. He was absently flexing his fingers up and down on the upholstered cushioning and she began imagining . . . imagining . . .

 _How those same fingers would feel tracing along her body, caressing a breast, exploring all the pleats and tucks between her legs._

She crossed and uncrossed her legs a dozen times, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, aware that there was now a wet spot on her serviceable invisible-line bikini briefs with the cotton crotch – a very wet spot.

 _Lord, she was aware that she was getting aroused – just sitting next to the man._

 _It was most disconcerting._

When the show was over and the audience was applauding their appreciation, Belle closed her eyes. She realized that she needed to extricate herself from this impossible situation and sat there hoping that he would just get up and leave. She opened her eyes. No such luck. He was still sitting there, next to her, looking at her with just a shadow of a smile on his face.

"That was just lovely. I particularly enjoyed that third poem, the one about butterflies. What did you think of it?" she heard him ask her.

"Yeah, it was just lovely," she said sourly.

"Would you permit me to treat you to supper?"

She turned on him. "I can't believe this. You are determined to make my life miserable, aren't you?"

"Actually no. I've been trying very hard to apologize for my brutish actions and you . . . you've been quite the bitch about it all."

Belle's mouth dropped open.

"I've sent you flowers, chocolates, an invitation to this excellent poetry reading that I thought you'd really like, I've complimented your dress and those are killer heels, I might add, and most recently I've tendered you a dinner invitation. All to say I'm sorry. What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?"

Well now Belle felt chastised. Now she just felt petty. _Damn him_. How did he turn her self-righteous anger back on to herself?

"One meal and you'll go away?" she asked him

He looked at her and slowly smiled. "Unless you want more," he promised.

"I won't be wanting more," she promised him _trying to erase the memory of that slow, sensual smile_.

They sat at a nice restaurant, a really nice restaurant. He'd apparently had made reservations. _Arrogant bastard_. He'd known he'd get her to agree to this dinner. She'd insisted on buying the wine.

"I don't know about this," he'd told her referencing the wine. "How do I know that you don't plan to get me drunk so you can have your wicked way with me?"

She just glared at him.

He smiled back at her.

She ordered the salmon.

"You know salmon's considered an aphrodisiac," he told her absently cutting into his own filet mignon.

She rolled her eyes.

"Really nice dress," he complimented her.

She closed her eyes, "Thank you." She really was trying hard not to be rude but it was difficult. He made it difficult.

She drank too much wine - easily half the bottle of the potent stuff. He'd had the other half but didn't seem nearly as inebriated – must be that strong Scottish blood - that hot Scottish blood.

That was all there was to it.

He insisted on walking her to her door and, after watching her fumble with her key, he calmly took it away from her and stepped in front of her to unlock the door. She stepped back to admire his very fine rear end as he leaned slightly over to manage the key. _What was it that Ruby had said? Lean and wiry and high energy._ He had gotten the door open and stepped back to allow her to go in front. She nearly fell in, the combination of teetering heels and tippling wine nearly toppling her over. but he caught her and walked her back to her bedroom. Not sparing any thought about the matter, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

 _Yes, this is what she wanted._

He was clearly surprised at first, but quickly gave in and began kissing her back.

One of them - it might have been Belle - began to slip off the clothes the other was wearing, the tuxedo jacket and pants, then her slinky dress, all hitting the floor.

Rush managed to gasp, "Let's keep those shoes on."

He then pushed her back onto her bed but miscalculated. Belle had kept a firm grasp on him and he was pulled down on top of her. And she was all soft and wiggly and warm and inviting and what the hell, he was pretty tipsy himself. They ended up with hands under remaining clothing and lips locked together and bodies meshing together. There was a brief moment of clarity when he looked her right in the eye.

"You okay with this?"

"Yeah, oh yeah," her voice soft and husky gave him all the permission he needed to proceed.

Somehow, he managed to slip on a condom _he had put one in his wallet earlier in the wild hope that something like this might just happen._ He felt her nails dig into his back as he pushed into her. She gave a soft gasp and he stopped, allowing her to adjust. She was very tight and he guessed it had been awhile for her.

It had been for him . . . not since Gloria's death, eight months ago and, really, for the many months before that. He'd been scared that she was too fragile, too delicate.

"Nicholas," he heard Belle breathe his name. "Please, more, please."

Yeah, he was ready for more and if she thought she could take it, he was eager to oblige. He lifted up so that he could plunge in deeper . . . and so he could watch her expressive face as he brought her closer and closer. Eyes half-closed, her mouth half-opened, her body arched, anchored to the bed to receive his each and every thrust. She began to gasp in time with each lunge and she pulled at the sheets, bunching them up, desperately trying to hold onto to something sturdy. Soon enough she cried out, keening a long moan and shattering beneath him.

He wanted simultaneously to keep himself buried in her heat and to release himself into her. He pulled her up and holding on tightly, changed his position so that he was sitting on the bed and she was more or less in his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist all the while their bodies were still connected. He pulled up his legs so they criss-crossed beneath her. He could feel the heels of her amazing shoes digging into his back. He had stopped moving for the moment, allowing her to regain her senses. He was kissing her tenderly.

"More? Please?" she asked leaning forward to kiss him on the chest.

"Just feel for a moment."

"But it's not enough," she told him frantically.

"Look at me," he told her and slowly she brought her eyes up to meet his. "Feel how well we fit together," and he could feel her inner muscles grasp him, clenching, trying to urge him on. They stayed still for a moment, their eyes locked together, heightening the intimacy between them. His fingers had made a tousled mess of her hair, his kisses had bruised her lips into a pouty swelling. She struggled to be still, wanting to touching him everywhere she could. She couldn't manage it any longer and began running her hands along his arms, his body, her fingers tracing along the top of his shoulders and up his neck.

"More please," this time she asked in a quiet voice.

He allowed her to push him down so that he was on his back. As he straightened his legs, she brought her knees up so that she straddled him and began to rock back and forth and bounce up and down. He was able to push up into her as she pushed down onto him, a deep penetration that satisfied them both. He liked this position as he was able to look at her and touch her breasts, teasing the nipples, which had long since hardened into peaks. He thought her breasts were lovely, pert, round, just enough to fill his hands. His hands dropped to her waist then down to hold on to her hips. Finally, he brought his hand down between them, to give some additional stimulation to her most sensitive female nub. He was very close to losing himself and Belle fracturing again was enough for him to give in, spewing into the condom¸ feeling the walls of her passage caressing, massaging him.

She collapsed on top of him and both of them, their eyes closed, breathing in unison, both enjoyed that moment of syncope that came from sexual satisfaction.

He didn't know when she had rolled off of him and he had regained enough sense to remove the condom. He dropped it to the floor, promising himself to retrieve it first thing in the morning. Then he dropped off to sleep, feeling better than he had in a long time.

Belle stirred. She moved her feet which were now shoeless. She had a vague sense of soreness. She was also unusually warm. It took her a moment.

Realization, that harsh concept that always comes with The Morning After, came crashing down.

She had spent the night with Nicolas Rush! She was still in bed with him! She was wrapped up in his arms, lying on her side, with him curled up around her, her backside up against his front.

Oh god, oh god, oh god!

He stirred and pulled her closer to him and she could, unmistakenly, she could feel _it_ pressing up against her behind. His face was on the back of her neck and he began planting little soft kisses along her nape making her shiver.

"You smell good," she heard him mutter.

Jeez, she needed to pee, she needed to get out of her bed, she needed to get him out of her bed, she needed to get dressed, but he was kissing her in earnest now, causing her to feel . . . to feel . . . oh no, she couldn't be getting all aroused again.

When she felt his hand slip between her legs she wanted to cringe. There was no mistaking her response.

"You're very wet. Nice," he complimented her between kisses.

"No, no, we can't do this," she managed to say.

He stopped. "Regrets?" he asked.

"Yes. I hate you. You're everything I don't like in a man. You're arrogant and smug and . . . " she stopped. "Okay, what happened last night was splendid, really remarkable. But we can't do this again," she told him somehow managing to pull away, wrapping herself with the sheet and getting out of the bed.

"I understand," he told her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed surveying the area looking for his briefs. He didn't say anything when Belle picked them up using only her thumb and her forefinger and gingerly handed them to him.

"I'm so glad you agree," she continued, missing Rush's half smile. "I think it would be best if we just pretended this never happened, that we both went our separate ways. Certainly if we pass each other on campus, it would be all right if we spoke, wished each other a nice day," Belle was blithering on while Rush dressed himself. He did remember to snag the condom and dispose of it, taking a quick trip to the bathroom himself.

As Belle followed him to her front door, she continued talking, "I would, of course, prefer you not keep sending me things or coming over disturbing my graduate students. Naturally I will stay away from your office. There's no reason for us to encounter each other on any type of regular basis."

He got to the door and he put his hand behind her head pulling to into him and kissing her directly on the mouth, a slow, lingering open-mouthed kiss. She melted against him and her hands went to the lapels of his tux to hold on to him _to stay standing up_.

"How's tonight at seven? Italian okay with you?" he asked her.

"Italian would be fine, just fine," she answered him.


End file.
